Where There Are No Happily Ever Afters
by Balanced
Summary: When a maniacal witch changes Wilson's entire world, he must change everything back before it's too late.
1. Chapter 1

**Where There Are No Happily Ever Afters**

**Author's Note: ** This, kids, is exactly why you don't smoke weed while watching Disney movies. I had been dying to write an AU fic (As in, where one of the characters actually _goes _to an alternate universe, not in the "I need an AU to make my ship work" kind of way.) and then the movie, Enchanted, came on ABC Family today while I was smoking up, Thus, the premise of this story. There's no canon proof that Arlene Cuddy is an evil witch, but that doesn't necessarily mean that she isn't. And I know the promos for the next new House show her life in peril, but I'm guessing that she's going to be fine because they have already had our favorite diagnostician lose a patient that matters to someone he cares about.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own House, Wilson, Enchanted, or Narissa. All I do own is what is evidently an overactive imagination.

_**Nathaniel: Where, my most adored queen, did you send her?  
Queen Narissa: To a place where there are no 'happily ever afters.'**_

In a small house, just outside of Princeton, NJ, a woman worked tirelessly in her long, rectangular kitchen. She wasn't cleaning (no, she did that every day so that there was never leftover mess to take care of) and she wasn't cooking, though to the most casual observer it would likely appear that that was _exactly_ what she was doing. And it was true she had a large pot simmering on the stove, just like it was true that she was continuously adding ingredients to the concoction. However, it wasn't salt that she was shaking into the boiling liquid, but ground-up Jimson Weed. To her right, her cell phone vibrated and she paused to check the caller I.D. Her daughter, Lisa. But no, she couldn't talk to her right now. She was in the middle of making this potion, and talking on the phone while mixing dangerous herbs was never a good idea - and she'd had to learn that lesson the hard way. She would call her back later.

Truthfully, it was a little uncanny for Lisa to be calling her now – after all, Arlene was doing this for her.

Arlene hadn't liked Greg House when she met him. He had been rude, abrasive, and everything negative she had ever read about him, and that was just during the first two minutes of their first conversation. But she really did believe that he cared for Lisa in a way that, quite honestly, few other men had. And, okay, he would make a really terrible father, but maybe under his girlfriend's watchful eye . . .

Arlene sighed, slicing off three-inch sections of Comfrey Root before adding them as well. The first visit, when she met House, had also been the visit when she met James Wilson.

The men's friendship had immediately set her ill at ease. Certainly it wasn't normal for the two men to move in such perfect sync. When one stepped right, the other stepped right. At the exact moment Wilson reached forward to take House's glass for a refill, the diagnostician held it out. Neither had noticed, as though this happened all the time.

When eight minutes had passed, she quickly inspected the color of her creation and smiled when she saw that it was clear. The instructions said that one drop would suffice, but just to be safe she added three additional ones to the bottle of water she had placed on the counter. Then she resealed it as best as she could, feeling fairly confident that the oncologist wouldn't realize that it had been opened before.

As if on cue there was a hesitant knock at the door.

"Coming," she called, in a passable impression of a hostess. She switched off the burner, untied her apron, and then quickly strode to the front door. "Wilson," she cried at the sight of him.

He flashed a brief, tired smile, then entered the house when she stepped back. "I was surprised that you called me," he said. "You were a little vague on the phone."

"My apologies. Why don't you come inside and have a drink?"

Turning her back to him, she wordlessly led him through the front hall and around the living room so that they wouldn't pass the stove. When they reached the kitchen table, she gestured to the first chair and he slowly took a seat.

"There was just something I wanted to run past you," she told him, twisting the cap off the water bottle as though for the first time, and then she poured some into a glass. She placed the drink in front of him, and when he continued to stare at her in confusion, she impatiently nudged it in his direction.

With one last doubtful look at his best friend's girlfriend's mother, he took a large swallow.

Arlene wasn't too familiar with this potion so when there was a sharp _pop_, and Wilson's head fell abruptly onto the table, she jumped, slightly startled. Then there was another _pop, _Wilson vanished from sight, and Arlene Cuddy continued to grin.

* * *

The first thing Wilson noticed, as he drew closer to consciousness, was how hard the ground was. Well, he assumed it was the ground that was the long, flat surface he was lying on. There was also what felt suspiciously like a gentle breeze that seemed to be blowing through his hair. But he didn't feel dirt or blades of grass between his fingers. He would have to chance a look at his surroundings.

He took a deep breath, then slowly opened one of his eyes, barely wide enough to see.

It was hard to differentiate between objects, but he could easily tell that it was nighttime. And the ground was hard because it wasn't ground but, rather, Cobalt Street. He was lying in the middle of the road. Dimly he knew that now would be a good time to get to his feet, but his head felt like it was going to explode any minute.

He quickly did a mental review of all his extremities and found nothing broken. Well, that was a relief. He could just imagine the look on . . . But just like that, his thought ran out, and the mocking face he had just seen in his mind's eye disappeared. A wave of unease swept over him, though he wasn't sure of the cause.

"Maybe because you're going to be road kill in about 30 seconds," he muttered to himself.

Carefully using the asphalt as leverage, he gingerly stood, then gripped his head with both of his hands. He needed to get home and take some Ibuprofen.

Ibuprofen.

Automatically goose bumps shot up his arms, but he halfheartedly attributed it to the icy breezes. He glanced around for his jacket, but to no avail.

Ooookay. What the hell? Actually, now that he was thinking about it, what was he even doing outside? Last he remembered he had been . . . sitting at . . . his kitchen table . . . right? If he didn't know better he would have thought he had been drinking, but he was certain the last thing he'd drank had been water.

The face of his watch was cracked, but the second hand was still moving, so he assumed the time was correct – which meant that it was just after midnight. So why was he still wearing his work clothes?

With a deep sigh, and knowing he needed to get home regardless, he crossed the street before halting at a two-storied brick house, and withdrawing a set of keys. Automatically he reached for the gold one in between the two silver, and used it to unlock the front door. There was a protesting _creeeeek_ when he pushed it open, and he gritted his teeth at the noise.

There was the kitchen to his right, no different than he remembered, yet somehow this realization annoyed him more than it put him at ease. He stopped walking to stare at the room in silence, trying to put his finger on what was bothering him. The hand towel hung on the door to the oven, just like it had that morning, and the magnets on the refrigerator hadn't changed.

He shrugged, trying to push aside his worry.

The bedroom was dark when he stepped inside, but he didn't bother with the light. He loosened then removed his tie, then took off his shoes and over shirt. As he slipped under the blankets on the bed, he felt the cohabiter shift beside him.

"Work late," came the tired voice.

"Yeah," Wilson answered, though he still wasn't sure if that was the case. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He lightly kissed the back of her head before rolling onto his back.

"It's okay." Then she was facing him, looking completely different than what he had been expecting, but in what way? "I know how you can make it up to me."

And Bonnie captured his lips with her own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the late arrival but if you happened to read _Does He Love You_ you know that I've been suffering from insomnia for about a week, and am only just now getting caught up on sleep. Which is good news for my wonderful readers. Sorry this chapter is a little shorter. I'm about to get off of work pretty soon, and this seemed like a good place to leave off.

He didn't have to open his eyes to know that something was very wrong. The bed felt strange, as did the warm body beside him. Even the temperature was off - it seemed cold to him for some reason. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, screaming at him to jump up and run from the room as fast as he could.

He gripped the pillow fearfully, at the same time wondering what he was afraid of. Then, with a shuttering breath, he slowly opened his eyes.

He was in his bedroom.

Of course he was in his bedroom. What the hell had he been expecting? And it was his wife that lay silently beside him, still fast asleep. There was the picture of him and Bonnie that they had taken on their trip to Belize last year, hanging on the far wall; right below it stood the wooden bookshelf he had built the winter before last (mostly to prove to his wife that he could). In the corner was the table they had picked out two weeks ago from Ashley's Furniture. On the dresser to the left was another picture, this one of their wedding day so many years before. Bonnie's sister stood to the right, in the spot for the maid-of-honor. To Wilson's left stood his best man, his brother.

Immediately his heart rate picked back up again, and he stared at the picture in confusion. What was wrong? Had Bonnie moved it since yesterday? But no, it stood in the same place it always did. Right? Was the frame different?

His wife shifted, then her eyes fluttered open. She smiled up at him until she caught his expression. "You okay," she asked, sitting up.

He nodded. "I'm fine. It's just-" He gestured to the offending photograph. "Did you change the frame for our wedding picture?"

She raised a confused eyebrow. "No."

"Does it look different to you?"

" . . . Are you sure you're alright?"

He sighed. He could tell by Bonnie's voice that she was starting grow increasingly concerned, so he decided to drop it for the time being. He couldn't even put his finger on the source of his discontent, so what was the point in giving his wife the third degree?

He showered and dressed for work quickly, assuring himself that it wasn't because of a desire to get away from his house, but, rather, a growing number of clinic hours for the week that he had been putting off.

* * *

He put the car in park and stared at the building in silence. He wasn't even exactly sure how he had gotten there. He had driven in silence without paying too close attention, knowing that his muscle memory would kick in and pick up the slack. Except, that wasn't what had happened. His precious muscle memory had guided him to a street he was completely unfamiliar with, to an apartment he had never seen before. He stole a glance at the address, and somehow the numbers and letter nearly knocked the wind out of him. 221B. But that meant nothing to him. He didn't recognize this place at all.

And he knew, he really did, that the best thing to do in a situation like this would be to just pretend the whole thing hadn't happened - to tell himself that he had simply gotten lost trying to find a new shortcut to work. He knew he should leave.

Then the door to the apartment swung open, and he couldn't have moved even if he'd wanted to.

The man stepping outside looked inexplicably like someone he used to know, but he couldn't put his finger on who. Certainly no one came to mind, and plus, who would he know that be anything like the man in front of him? He was an older guy, leaning lightly on a brown, wooden cane, wearing a rock band tee shirt and faded jeans. The man didn't seem to see Wilson - he just continued the trek to his own car without even giving the silver Volvo a second glance.

_Don't do it,_ Wilson commanded himself, even as he reached for the door handle to his car and swung the driver's side door open. "Hey," he yelled before he could come to his senses, and he jumped out of the car. He jogged over to the older man, who staring at him in only mild interest. "Do I know you," he asked without preamble.

The man smirked slightly and it was just so heartbreakingly familiar that for a moment Wilson could barely think straight. "Nope," the guy replied. "And if you think standing outside my apartment is going intimidate me into seeing you, I have to tell you that I don't practice much anymore." Wilson had no idea what he was talking about. There was a moment of silence as the two men eyed each other. Wilson wished he could think of something else to say, but how was he supposed to convince this man that they must have met sometime before, because how the hell else would he end up at this door?

"I'm James Wilson," he introduced himself, extending his hand for the mystery man to shake.

At those words the other man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "The Head of Oncology over at Princeton Plainsboro?"

Okay, so he _did _know the man. Whew. He had thought he was going crazy. "That's me. So we _have _met?"

"No, you just work for my girlfriend. Your name has come up a time or two in conversation."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Lisa Cuddy."

Almost immediately Wilson felt his relief ebb away. No, that wasn't a good enough explaination. Even if he had caught glimpses of the guy here and there visiting Cuddy, that wouldn't explain why he had known to come to his apartment. In fact, he was pretty sure that only made it worse.

"Well, this has just been buckets of fun," the guy commented, turning away and approaching his own car.

"What's your name," Wilson called out wildly, hoping it would give him some sort of clue as to where this insanity was coming from.

"Greg House." And then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Sorry I've been lazy. I had been super-irritated at the Huddy lovefest on House, but now I can forgive and forget. By the way, there are a LOT of spoilers in this chapter from the first six seasons, and then from last week's House. So consider yourself forewarned. And there's no such thing as reviewing too much.

The rest of the day passed without event. The strange déjà vu that had seized him that morning was finally dissipating, taking with it his unease. He told himself that it wasn't _that_ weird, the way he had made his way to Dr. House's place. The guy was world-renowned- there was no reason why Wilson couldn't have read an article about him in the past, and tucked the knowledge of where he lived into his subconscious mind. It made perfect sense.

Which was what he was thinking about when he nearly walked headlong into Cuddy.

"Oh, God, sorry," he quickly apologized, bending down to help her pick up the papers she had dropped.

She gave a light laugh. "It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention. I've been a little off-kilter today."

"I know the feeling."

"Hey, so, Greg said he ran into you at his apartment," she said, glancing at him curiously.

A shiver shot up Wilson's spine at her words, but he determinedly ignored it. He had just spent the afternoon explaining away his insanity; he wasn't about to doubt himself now. "Yeah, Bonnie and I are thinking about downsizing," he lied. "I was just driving around, looking for a place."

She didn't seem to notice anything. "I know the area seems nice, and the prices are low, but keep in mind that Greg has already successfully driven three people this year to break their lease." She grinned, evidently thinking of the man in question, and as she did Wilson had a sudden flash of being in a large, open room, standing behind House, watching in silence as the diagnostician reached for a tarp that was draped over some piece of furniture.

He felt the blood rush from his face, and instinctively he reached for his boss's shoulder to steady himself.

"Are you alright," he heard her ask, but she sounded far away. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words left his lips. Oh God. Oh _God_.

_He's standing in an airport, cellphone to his ear, trembling from head to toe. The woman on the other end of the line says that the leg pain was an infarction, and that he needs to get to the hospital right away. That his friend needs him._

_He's standing in the kitchen, hunting Vicodin for the man screaming in pain on his couch._

_He's pressing a damp towel against House's forehead while tears stream down both their cheeks._

_He's walking down the hall to the hospital, telling House about Rebecca Adler, who isn't his cousin, but what does that matter?_

_He's sitting in the board room, his left hand clenched into a fist as he firmly tells Vogler, "Opposed."_

_He's staring at a new motorcycle, chiding House for worrying about dinner when he's probably going to die in a massive car accident._

_He's leaning on the wall as Cameron runs up to him, screaming that House has been shot._

_He's standing in a hotel and House says, "Maybe I don't want to push this till it breaks."_

_He's on the floor of House's apartment, rolling him over to make sure he's still breathing, a bottle of pills for "Zebalusky" beside them._

_He's sitting at the bar in someone's house, cutting letters out of the newspaper for the ransom note he's going to write._

_He's ordering extra pain meds for House, who stares up at him and tells him that he loves him._

_He's crying into Cuddy's shoulder because his girlfriend is dying, and his friend almost is._

_He's softly saying that you can't choose your friends._

_He's in the driver's seat, guiding the car to a hospital called Mayfield._

_He's lying on a hospital bed, staring up at the gallery, and, a moment later, his friend._

_He's milling around a loft that isn't his, but is about to be._

_He's trying not to grin as House yanks a tarp off an organ, and then bends his long frame over the keys…_

"Wilson?"

Cuddy's voice snapped him back to the present and as he turned to her, he saw the worry etched into her face. "I . . . I have to . . . go," he stammered out, and before she could reply, he spun around and began walking back towards his office.

The moment he heard the door click shut behind him he collapsed into his desk chair. What the hell was going on? One minute he was a happily married man who had only _heard_ of the legendary Greg House, and the next he was . . . what, exactly? Realizing that none of it was real, that he was trapped in some sort of alternate reality? It was insane-absolutely insane.

But that didn't mean it wasn't true. He remembered everything now. He and House were not strangers, but best friends. And House and Cuddy weren't dating-they hadn't been together in over a year. What had House said when he'd run into him that morning? That he didn't practice much anymore? What did that mean? House's normal workload was one patient per week. How much _less_ could he even be working?

Unless he wasn't a doctor anymore.

Okay, well, whatever, it didn't matter. It wasn't as if Wilson was just going to go ahead and live this life. He had to find a way to get back to his reality, or, if _this _was his reality, only screwed up, he'd have to find a way to fix it.

The last thing he remembered was being called to Arlene Cuddy's house, so he decided he would start there.

As he got to his feet to leave a knock at the door met his ears. Hoping that it was his assistant, so he could tell her (if it was a 'her' here too, anyway) to cancel his appointments for the rest of the day, he called, "Come in."

It wasn't his assistant. The woman who entered had long blond hair, bright blue eyes, and wide, full lips, which she was biting nervously. She stepped further into the room, and closed the door behind her.

"Do you know me," she asked him without preamble, crossing her arms over her chest.

And for the second time in five minutes he could barely breathe. "Amber?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **I love Amber, so I bring her back from the dead as often as possible.  
**Author's Note Two: **Who can believe such a fast update? I think you should reward me by spamming my inbox with reviews. :)

Amber Volakis stood in front of him, almost exactly as he remembered her. It hardly seemed possible – she had died years ago - and yet the look she was giving him, the deep, relieved sigh she breathed seemed to say that he was as familiar to her as she was to him.

"Thank God," she gasped, as though it was perfectly normal for her to be standing in his office, engaging him in conversation. As if she hadn't just returned from the grave. "I've been having the weirdest, most frustrating day. So, I've been spending the last week haunting this girl Jessica that tortured me all through high school. I mean, nothing terrible. You know, just hiding her keys and stuff like that. And then this morning I blink, and all of a sudden I'm walking around, all corporeal. I'm living in this apartment uptown, and there's money in the bank. I can _buy _stuff now." She paused, raising her eyebrows when he didn't respond. "You did say that you knew me, right? James?"

He swallowed hard, ignoring the way his heart pounded against his ribcage. He wasn't even exactly sure what she was saying. Was she telling him that she was _his _Amber? From his world, his reality? The one who had . . . "I'm a little confused," he finally said. "You know that we dated?"

She lowered herself into the chair in front of his desk, gesturing for him to take the other seat. When he did she replied, "We didn't in this reality, I don't think. There doesn't seem to be any evidence of it at my place."

He shook his head. "And I'm married anyway. Go on."

"So what I think happened is this world changed. I mean, what are the odds that we would both be sent to another plane of reality? It's the only way to explain why I'd be brought back from the dead. Obviously we have to figure out how to put it all back." Suddenly she grinned. "It's a strange conversation. But I've accepted it. Honestly, I'm just relieved to have someone to talk to. It's a little strange to be alive again."

He reflected over her words in silence, considering them from all angles. So far it appeared to make about as much sense as anything else. However he still saw one large flaw in this plan that he had to voice. "Um, but if we set it back to the way it was . . . I mean, aren't you . . ?"

"Dead?" she finished for him cheerfully. "Yes. But really, I don't mind. I don't have anything to be afraid of. I was in the middle of my afterlife."

Oookay. So his posthumous girlfriend was sitting in front of him, informing him that they had to figure out a way to send her off to her death. He was pretty sure this whole thing was going to cost him _years_ of therapy.

Another knock startled them both and before Wilson had a chance to tell whoever it was to come back later the door flew open. And he couldn't believe it but was this world's version of House entered the room.

"Wilson," the older man cried. "Just the man I was looking for."

"You can't be surprised," he retorted out of habit. "Who did you expect to find in my office?" Somehow, in spite of everything, he felt the corners of his lips turn up. Teasing his friend felt good.

"Truthfully, I'm looking for Cuddy," House replied, giving a half-hearted shrug.

"Here?"

"I hear you're her favorite department head." House cocked his head to the side, examining Wilson through narrowed eyes. "But I also hear you're married, so I can tell her to stop trying."

"You checked up on me?" He wasn't surprised – how many times had House done it before? But this House didn't even know him.

The diagnostician ignored him, turning his attention to Amber instead. "Who are you," he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, her face completely void of expression. "Amber," she eventually replied. "Excuse me, but do you not know him?" She gestured to Wilson.

"Just met today. I've never had a stalker before."

"I'm not stalking you," Wilson quickly defended.

"Whatever you say. So apparently my girlfriend isn't in here. I'm going to continue my search." And with that, he exited the room.

It was so quiet Wilson wondered if Amber could hear his heartbeat. Being around House, knowing the wall that stood between them, was deeply unsettling. He couldn't imagine anything worse, though he told himself that he couldn't pretend it wasn't nice to have Amber's company. He would have someone to talk to, someone to help him.

"This must be killing you," she said softly, all humor vanishing from her demeanor. She reached across the desk, taking his hand and weaving her fingers through his own. He realized that it felt like a lifetime ago that that simple gesture could summon butterflies to his stomach, though it was comforting, in a way.

"It was Cuddy's mom," he muttered, choosing not to acknowledge her statement. "She called me and said she wanted to talk to me, so I went over there. And she gave me something to drink and then I woke up in this fucked up world."

Amber frowned. "But why would she do that? I mean, what did she have to gain?"

"House is with Cuddy here – they actually broke up a little over a year ago. Maybe she's decided that he's her soul mate."

"Let's go."

Twenty minutes later Wilson and Amber stood outside the house he had visited just the day before and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or terrified to see that it looked pretty much the same. He turned to his counterpart who sighed, then reached forward, pounding on the door.

Barely two seconds later the door swung open and Arlene Cuddy stood in the door way. When she saw who it was she immediately tried to shut it back, but Amber was too fast for her, halting it with her foot.

"What the hell is going on," Wilson demanded, glaring at Arlene over Amber's shoulder.

Cuddy's mother widened her eyes in innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," Amber chimed in. "If you're the one who messed everything up then we're guessing that that means you got to keep your memory too. He asked you a question."

And just like that the mask slipped completely away and the woman with them stuck out her chin haughtily. "There's nothing you can do."

"Nothing we can do," Wilson repeated incredulously. "You must be kidding."

Arlene smiled. "There's no remedy, no potion, no spell. This is the new reality. Deal with it."

"I'm supposed to be dead," Amber snapped.

"This isn't about you, dear," Arlene answered. "My daughter deserves to be happy. She put up with a lot of crap from House over the years, and if he has to sacrifice his friendship with Wilson for them to stay together then that's just the way it has to be. It's the least he can do."

"So, that's what you did, then," Wilson said slowly. "You changed things so that House and I never met. How does that correlate to him and Cuddy being together? Or him not working?"

Arlene shrugged. "No idea. But, quite frankly, that's not my problem. Now I'm asking the two of you to leave, now, please, or I'll be forced to call the police."

"Do you think she's telling the truth," Wilson couldn't help asking as they made their way back to the car. "Do you really think it's stuck this way?"

Amber rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Come on, you can't lose all hope now. I mean, obviously _she_ would say that there's no cure, but whatever. She's the villain. You know better than to trust the bad guys. We got what we needed, I think – a confession. The motive."

"So do you have any idea what we should do now?"

Amber glanced up and when her eyes met his, he knew the answer.

"Of course."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Okay, House's Head/Wilson's Heart is seriously sad. Anyway, not all the chapters are gonna be quite so crack!fic, but remember what the inspiration for this story was.

The drive to their next destination felt almost unbearably long, but Wilson attributed that his nerves about the impending task. Though Amber had wanted to skip straight ahead to her plan, he had insisted to make a pit stop by his house. He took a calming, deep breath and reminded himself, a little ironically, that he _had_, after all, done this before.

The sight of the brick building shot butterflies into his stomach, and he glanced quickly at Amber, seeking reassurance.

She rolled her eyes. "Relax. You're going to be fine."

"I know," he lied. But still he didn't move. "I'm just a little out of practice. I mean, she doesn't even know what's coming. I don't think." He'd found that as memories of his actual past flooded his mind, his false memories began to vanish. "What if she cries?"

"Tell her to suck it up because we have a world to save." She grinned. "Want me to come in and help?"

"No thanks, I've got it."

With one last sigh, he climbed out of the car.

Bonnie was sitting on the couch when he opened the front door, photos spread messily across the coffee table. She glanced back at him, then gave him a cheerful smile. "I've decided to organize the albums," she said, gesturing to the sack of books beside her. "What do you think of making the red one pictures of the first year of our marriage?"

He swallowed hard, then stepped further into the house. "Sounds good to me." A small part of him wished he could end the conversation there, but he determinedly summoned a mental image of his best friend and focused on why he was doing this. "Bonnie, we need to talk."

She looked up, and it was clear from her expression that she somehow had a clue. He tried to remember if he had cheated in _this_ past too, but he wasn't sure.

"Is everything okay?" Her jaw clenched in anger and he was struck by intense déjà vu.

He met her eyes with his own. "This isn't going to work."

"Why not?"

Not exactly the words of disbelief he had been expecting, but he supposed this was an improvement. "It's . . ." He contemplated lying, but stuck with a small variation of the truth. "There's someone else." Technically, a 'someone else' that practically didn't even exist anymore, and would never love him the same way, but nevertheless.

Bonnie turned away, silently seething, but he waited it out. When she faced him again he got to his feet. "Let me just pack a bag and I'll get out of your way."

When he returned to the car, throwing his luggage in the backseat, he frowned at the bright smile on Amber's face.

"You know, you could pretend to not be quite so gleeful," he told her grumpily. "A woman is in there, upset, because her husband just left her."

She laughed. "Your fake-wife not take it too well? What did she say?"

And once again he took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do, what the right thing was. He couldn't let her keep helping him and not tell her everything. What was he afraid of? Who would she tell? "She asked me why. I told her I was in love with someone else. It was, uh, as close to true as I felt comfortable getting."

Amber cocked her head to the side and examined him through narrowed eyes. "Is there?"

"I'm in . . ." He paused, then started again. "I have feelings . . ."

"It's House," she guessed. And he didn't argue.

She sat back in the seat, apparently lost in her own thoughts. He could feel frustrated tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, but he blinked quickly, not wanting her to see.

"It's okay," she finally replied. He looked over at her, wanting to speak, to say anything – that he _had _loved her, that feeling that way about House didn't change anything. That he had loved two people at the same time. That it didn't matter anyway, because his friend was straight. But the uncharacteristic compassion in her face threw him. "It's okay," she said again, and he believed her.

"So, anyway, next on our list," she prompted when he had composed himself.

He smiled, to show her he appreciated the change in subject, and then answered, "So, it's time to go see Chase."

When Wilson had first thought about it, it seemed strange that they should choose Chase, of all people, to advise them on this subject. He'd never been anything even _resembling_ close with the man, and he couldn't really be sure that the young Aussie would have anything to contribute. But he was, after all, the one who had successfully hypnotized House; the one that had considered priesthood before healing, and when Amber had called around to see what had become of him in this reality, they had discovered that he had become a man of the cloth anyway.

When they pulled up to the rectory they still hadn't agreed on how they were going to go about this.

"I still say we should just tell him the truth," Wilson argued, as the pair exited the car, and approached the brown, wooden door.

Amber reached out and gave it three sharp knocks (Wilson supposed she was taking the lead, but _that_ wasn't surprising) before smirking slightly. "And say what? So, in a parallel world we used to work together but I got killed, and Wilson here is best friends with your boss, the world famous Dr. House. Who, by the way, isn't even a doctor anymore? I think that may overwhelm him a little."

The oncologist was saved from answering by the sudden presence of a blond-haired priest, who was staring at them in confusion. "Can I help you," he asked in a deeply familiar accent.

Wilson let out a nervous laugh, so Amber stepped up once more. "We really needed to see you," she said, in a passable impression of a run-of-the-mill woman-he'd never have guessed that she had come back from the dead. "Can we come in?"

Father Chase (dear Lord!) raised his eyebrows. "We can't speak on the porch?"

"It's sensitive in nature," she replied smoothly.

He shrugged and stepped back.

"Okay, we're just going to skip right into the middle of things," she continued when they entered the small house. "We want to know everything you know about witches."

Wilson turned to her sharply, but she pretended not to notice. It wasn't exactly how he would have chosen to broach the subject – Chase was now looking at both of them as though they had lost their minds - but when the younger man answered, Wilson had to give his ex credit.

"Well, I've personally never seen evidence of supernatural beings," he said carefully. "But the Bible does reference witches in a few different places. Nasty business, if you ask me."

"And, let me ask you, does it seem like pretty much anyone can access witchcraft if they were to know how?"

Wilson instantly knew that she'd gone too far because Chase quickly backed away, his palms up. "I really think the two of you should leave."

"Wait," he argued wildly. "Listen, Chase-"

"Father Chase."

"Uh, Father Chase. We're not trying to do something crazy here. Or contact dark forces of the Underworld. We just need some information." He made an attempt at his most charming smile, hoping that it didn't come off as a grimace. "All we're wondering is, if there _were _such things as witches, could anyone do it? If they were to know how?"

Chase was quiet for a moment and Wilson held his breath. He knew they must seem a little unhinged but it seemed safer to stay within their normal circle and plus, there had been moments, when Chase was Normal-Chase, that it almost seemed possible for him to believe in things others didn't.

Finally he sighed and answered, not bothering to hide his annoyance: "Yes, I suppose so."

The rush of relief Wilson felt almost knocked him over. He couldn't hide the wide smile that spread across his face, and they hastened to make their leave when Chase caught his expression. As they walked out into the sun again he realized that he felt lighter than he had in what seemed like weeks.

Okay. Okay. So there was, hopefully, some way they could fix it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **I don't own Charmed either, shockingly enough. If you read, please review, as my life is very very small.

Impossible though it seemed, fifteen minutes later the sun was setting in the purple sky. Wilson and Amber had agreed to shelf the rescue mission at dark so he slowly navigated the car to a nearby Hilton, and paid for them a room for the night. It wasn't as though he didn't have the money for two, but the knowledge that she would be a mere three feet away in the other queen bed was too comforting for him to sacrifice. He was relieved when she didn't address it.

They walked to the elevator in silence, and Wilson wondered what she was thinking. Was she reflecting on her life from before, when she had been fighting so hard for a fellowship that would never be hers? Did she have regrets about making the decision to accompany House home that fateful night? Did she blame him for the events that led to her death?

He cleared his throat just to have something to do as he watched the digital numbers get higher and higher until they reached level nine. The elevator dinged, and when the doors slid open Wilson's heart plummeted into his knees. He could feel Amber's gaze fly to him, but he couldn't care.

House and Cuddy stood in the doorway of what was evidently their room, arms wrapped around each other's waists, lips pressed together in a gentle kiss. It seemed to Wilson that time slowed down, giving him ample opportunity to observe what was supposed to be a private moment. It hit him harder than he thought it would – it wasn't as though this was a new experience because, of course, his best friend and the Dean of Medicine had dated before. But he had also thought that dreadfulness was behind all of them.

They pulled back, and it was House who turned to see the pair hovering in the hall.

"Wilson," he exclaimed with a smile so wide that still the oncologist couldn't find words. Had it really been just twenty-four hours before that he'd had the right to call House up at his leisure?

Tears again but he wasn't surprised. "House," he answered, mustering up a tight grin. He felt Amber shift beside him, the temperature in the room drop. Dimly, he was aware that she was preparing to defend him.

"This is a really small world," she said, a little too loudly for nonchalance; then she moved her eyes to Cuddy. "Lisa Cuddy, right?"

Cuddy smiled uncomfortably and if the situation had been a little different it might have been funny. "Do I know you?"

"I'm friends with Dr. Wilson here. Amber Volakis."

"Nice to meet you."

Amber rolled her eyes with such animosity that Cuddy blinked and Wilson flinched. House, for his part, gave no outward reaction, other than to examine the youngest woman a little more closely. Wilson thought he saw a click behind the bright blues, but he knew it was probably his imagination.

"Well, we're going to our room," Amber continued, as though she noticed nothing amiss. "Our one room. We'll be sharing. I'm sure the two of you can fill in the blanks." She locked eyes with the ex-diagnostician and gave him a cold glare.

Wilson followed her to their room in stunned silence, avoiding Cuddy and the look she was shooting him. When the heavy door to 903 shut behind them his hands went to his hips. His face automatically arranged into his I'm-about-to-lecture-you expression. "Was that necessary," he demanded. "If she fires me-"

"Oh please. She's not going to fire you." Amber turned her back to him and began pulling her clothes out of her bag. As she withdrew shampoo she added, "I'm pretty sure I've figured out what we're going to do."

He swallowed the angry words that rose to his lips and then had to smother a laugh. He was kidding himself if he thought that he could summon indignation towards the woman. She was there, after all, helping him sort out this nightmare of a mess. "If I didn't ask, what are the odds that you wouldn't tell me?"

"Not good."

"And what have you decided?"

"I think we need to trigger his memory." She said the words with authority, as though there was no way he could argue with her infallible logic. "I thought I saw something in his expression out there, like maybe he was starting to get that there's something wrong with his saccharine relationship. And I decided that if you can remember it all, why shouldn't he? He's supposedly the most observant doctor in the world-shouldn't take much for him to realize that his relationship with the Snow Queen ended a year ago."

He chose not to answer right away, and lapsed into silence as she stepped into the bathroom to change. After a moment he followed suit, and switched his dress pants for pajama bottoms, his button-down for a tee shirt. When she entered the room again she was wearing black shorts and a long sleeved shirt.

The beds were suddenly so inviting that Wilson couldn't stop himself from crawling underneath the covers of the one closest to the door. He told himself that he would wake up the next morning in his bed in the world that he knew as his own, though he knew it was just wishful thinking. And House would never approve of wishful thinking.

He reached up and switched off the lamp by him so the only light in the room was the soft glow given off by Amber's.

Wordlessly he closed his eyes.

"Wilson," Amber said after a moment. He rolled over and saw that she had climbed into her bed. "We're going to fix this."

He couldn't stop himself from answering, "No, we're not."

Once he'd said the words he felt his heart constrict painfully. He still couldn't believe everything that had happened. He missed his life, his best friend. The urge to pull out his cell phone and call House had seized him all afternoon, and he'd had to remind himself that he couldn't do that anymore.

Like lightening, Amber flew across the room, fell onto is bed, and fixed him with a firm frown. "Now, you listen to me."

"Amber-"

"I realize that your sudden skepticism is the direct result of what we just saw, but you need to get a grip." As if to illustrate her point, she reached over and grabbed both his forearms so tight that her nails dug into his skin. "He's with Cuddy because of _evil magic._ Personal gain. For God's sake, man, have you never seen an episode of Charmed?"

He pulled his arms (with difficulty) from Amber and sighed, dropping his gaze to examine his fingernails. "Maybe Arlene's right. Maybe they _do_ belong together. They didn't really give it a try – he went back to Vicodin so early in their relationship…" His voice trailed away when he caught sight of the look in Amber's eyes. "Well, he did!"

She slid a little closer, then wrapped an arm across his shoulders. "Wilson," she said after a moment, "I'm going to revoke your decision-making privileges. Nothing personal, but, quite frankly, you're starting to suck at it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Okay, this chapter has been driving me nuts. I've been fiddling with it for days trying to make it seem like less of the Transition Chapter that it is, but whatever. I won't allow it to break my spirit. If you read it'd be great if you'd review.

The next morning, once the exes were dressed, they went downstairs and found a table in the breakfast area, where they helped themselves to juice, cereal, and, in Amber's case, six pancakes, nine sausages, and a bowl of eggs.

"Death really helped your appetite," Wilson commented when they'd taken their seats.

"Who knows how long I'm going to be able to enjoy the taste of food," Amber replied, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth. "We might get this whole thing solved today, and I'll go back to being ethereal. You think ghosts get taste buds?"

"Um . . . Okay. Anyway. So, let's get back to the planning."

After their talk the night before, he'd agreed to see the whole thing through. He'd forgotten how easily the woman had always been able to make him come around to her way of thinking, but it wasn't just a silver tongue. She'd eventually pointed out that, since House was no longer a doctor, all the patients he had saved, that he alone had the ability to save, had probably died. She'd known him incredibly well – she knew what worked on him. Had House stopped being a doctor before he'd saved Mark Warner? Or Foreman? Wilson knew he could find out, but was too frightened of the answers.

"The first order of business," Amber began, "is that we need to plan out the 'meet.' If we're going to jog his memory through his relationship with you, we might as well do it in chronological order."

"He and I _have_ met. I was loitering outside his apartment."

Amber let out a long, put-upon sigh. "Then I guess you'll just have to meet again, won't you?"

"Meet again?"

"Well, is loitering outside an apartment building the same as throwing a bottle at a mirror? No. So that means that you need to start over. When's the next convention?"

"May."

She glared at him. "Is that your version of being funny?"

"What about this situation could I possibly be finding humor in?"

"Okay, so a medical convention is out. Patience has never really been my strong suit."

"I remember."

"So, we'll just have to make do." He didn't answer, so she frowned at him again. "Okay, why am I doing all the work? What exactly are you contributing here?"

He let out a low, self-deprecating chuckle, then pulled out his cellphone to check his events. What he saw sent his eyebrows to his hairline, and he wordlessly passed the phone to Amber.

She stared at the screen for over a minute, and then raised her eyes to meet his. "And Team Wilber gets a reprieve!"

"Let's not call it that."

"Operation Hilson?"

"No."

"S.H.F.T.E.W.?"

"Excuse me?"

"Save House From The Evil Witch?"

"Tell you what, let's not give it a name."

Under the date April 10th the iPhone said in small black lettering: Annual Poker Tournament-Oncology-5 p.m.

***

They had a lot of time to kill, so under Amber's insistence they drove to the nearest mall to do some shopping. "If we're going to try our best to recreate this day," she'd argued when he'd tried his hand at saying no, "then you need to dress the part. Were you wearing jeans and a tee shirt the night you met your lovah?"

She was clearly having too much fun with this. He'd considered reminding her of the seriousness of the situation, but it was hard to justify when he caught her staring at herself in the rear view mirror. He wondered if ghosts had reflections but chose not to ask.

"What do you think of this one," she asked him now, holding up a long, light blue dress with spaghetti straps and some sort ruching (not that he would ever let House know that he knew that word) around the middle.

He tried to give the garment a critical eye. "It's fine," he finally settled on. Amber rolled her eyes and replaced it on the hanging bar.

"What about this one?" The new dress in question was shorter, black, with sequins dotting the skirt.

"Amber, I really don't know." She sighed, and turned back to her choices. "Why are you so worried about what you're going to wear anyway," he continued. "Hoping to score?"

She laughed, and he grinned at the familiar sound. "The last thing I wore was a hospital gown," she reminded him. "And, fine, the mall was never really my scene, but . . ." Her eyes softened as gently ran one of her fingers along the fabric. "I don't know. It's strange, the things you miss."

Wilson thought of House - of the inflections in his voice, of his trademark smirk, the sound of his cane tapping the floor as he walked - and thought he understood.

"If you wanted to go ahead and get your tux, Men's Warehouse is right across," Amber told him.

When he'd met his best friend, Wilson had technically been wearing a black suit with a green tie (which he had no memory of whatsoever; thank God he'd been drunk enough that night to take a picture of him and his new friend, a picture which now resided on his desk in the Regular World), but it was no secret that these Poker events were all very formal affairs. So he and Amber had decided to just do the best they could.

As he stepped into Men's Warehouse his eyes swept the room. He'd forgotten how obnoxious buying a new tux was (he could have rented, but really, that wasn't his style. And plus, with any luck he and Amber would set the world right again and it wouldn't matter about the money he'd spent). Clothing that all looked the same, and he was supposed to be able to differentiate between them?

"Can I help you," inquired a voice from behind. Wilson turned to see the salesman smiling at him brightly. The name tag said Eric.

"Well, I need a tux," he answered.

"We have a few of those," Eric replied with a laugh. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"

"I'm not really sure." He paused to consider. "As close to a suit as you can get a tux, I guess."

"White or black?"

"Black." He almost laughed when he thought of what House's expression would be if he turned up in all white.

"Cummerbund?"

"Definitely not."

"Low maintenance?"

"Something like that."

The salesman disappeared and while he was gone Wilson wandered aimlessly around the store, examining the clothing to pass the time. He could see no obvious differences, except that some of the blazers varied in length. He perked up when he noticed a top hat in the corner, and he couldn't resist picking it up and trying it on. In his mind's eye he watched House smirk and say:

"So which is it going to be? Doves or rabbits?"

Wilson spun around, but it wasn't as if he had any doubt in his mind as to who would be standing there. His best friend loomed in front of him, leaning lightly on his cane, the mocking smirk fully in place. It was a position Wilson knew oh-so-well.

Along with the joy that surged through him came a nugget of concern. He and Amber were supposed to be recreating the two men's first meeting. If House kept popping up _everyfuckingwhere_ it might be detrimental to their plans.

Nevertheless, this knowledge wasn't enough to keep him from responding, "Both of those are so mundane. I was thinking of making Cuddy's cleavage appear out of thin air."

House grinned. "Now you're talking. So, what are you doing here? Getting something for your little tournament thing tonight?"

"Isn't that the same thing you're doing?" Wilson asked. As long as he had the man there he might as well make sure of his impending attendance.

"It might be. Any excuse to dress up like Bond."

"You need the hat? I'd be happy to let you have it if it matters that much to you."

"You know, I think I'm good."

"James Bond wears hats."

"Yeah right. When?"

Wilson pretended to consider. "Just because you haven't seen him wear it doesn't mean he never has. I bet he's killed many a gunman while donning this exact hat."

"I don't think so."

It was beyond pathetic but Wilson felt a wide grin spread across his face. This was something he'd been missing, a staple of the friendship that meant so much to him.

"Sir?" The employee had appeared once more at his elbow. He held a simple black jacket and white shirt in one hand, a pair on long pants in the other. "Does this look like what you had in mind?"

As Wilson turned to look another sales associate approached House, holding clothes in her arms as well. She gestured for the older man to follow her to the register, and Wilson felt a slight pang as House shrugged at him and followed her.

He wasn't sure when Amber had entered the store, but suddenly she was beside him, long garment bag hanging over her arm. She glanced at House but didn't comment, to Wilson's relief. He wasn't sure what else, if anything, he could handle.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Okie doke. Back at work today, which means as many updates as I can crank out in six hours. We shall see what becomes of it. Oh, and there's really no reason that I chose to throw Brennan in, just that I've been rewatching season four, and he's the one out of all the people Amber has met that I've decided to make susceptible to bribery. So, I went through and edited it, I really did, but I had to retype the entire damn thing because I couldn't post from my lame writing program, so if there are errors, I'm sorry. Blame them on my impatience.

By the time Wilson and Amber arrived, the party was in full swing. He spent the first couple of minutes shooting vague smiles at people he knew, and getting drinks for himself and Amber, and then began the search for House.

A quick glance around revealed him sitting at a table in the corner, with Cuddy in the seat to his right, and simultaneously, they made their way through the crowd. There were three empty chairs, so they occupied two and waited for the hand in session to end so that they could be dealt in.

Wilson breathed an inward sigh, and firmly reminded himself that he needed to keep his emotions in check - though, yes, there were quite a few to keep track of. Fear, nervousness, crippling love for the man that had once been just a friend. And it was of love that he thought when House shot him a sly grin.

"Having fun, Jimmy," House asked while Cuddy took her turn.

Resisting the urge to turn questioningly to Amber, he smiled at House and answered, "We just got here. But I have high hopes for the evening." _Like changing the world._

There was a moment where Wilson was sure House's grin slipped as he misinterpreted Wilson's comment, and he couldn't stop himself from seizing the opportunity. He brought his brown eyes up to meet blue, and willed with everything he had for his friend to remember it all, to remember _something._

House blinked and turned away.

"I'm going to look for an accomplice," Amber suddenly whispered in his ear, and he jumped in surprise. He'd forgotten she was sitting there.

"Sure," he answered.

He watched her reach into her purse, closing her fingers protectively around the manila envelope, reassuring herself that the money was still there. He hadn't asked for details about what she was planning - merely knowing his part in a theoretical sense - and when she'd told him she needed five thousand dollars he'd passed her the cash before they had even left the bank parking lot.

"I'm going to have to bribe someone," she'd said as she'd shoved the money into her bag.

"I really don't need to know the specifics," he'd quickly replied.

"I thought you'd want to know."

"Really, it's fine."

Now she wove her way through the crowd and approached a doctor Wilson vaguely recognized as having applied for House's team the year that Amber had, and he racked his brains trying to think of the guy's name. When he came up blank he had no choice but to go with 'Doctor From the Middle of Nowhere.' He found himself wondering if he'd ended up at Princeton-Plainsboro because of the turn in events, or because Amber had lured him with the promise of cash.

The hand ended, but Amber hadn't returned, so he passed again on being dealt in, and continued to spectate.

Cuddy was first this time, and as she studied her cards, she absentmindedly muttered, "House, can you get my lipstick out of my purse? And see if my phone is in there."

Wilson's head spun around to stare at House before he'd even registered what she had said, but House made no effort to move. Instead, he appeared to be having some sort of inner conflict, battling habitual devotion against self-doubt.

"House," Cuddy prompted.

Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly, and dropped his eyes so that he could carry out the task of carefully examining his fingernails.

A second later Amber appeared among the group again, and Wilson emitted a tiny sigh of relief. The temperature in the room had dropped about forty degrees since House had settled on simply passing his girlfriend her purse.

"He's agreed to the whole thing," Amber muttered in his ear. "And don't worry. He knows you're gonna hit him."

"Excuse me," Wilson said sharply, frowning when he saw that his outburst had drawn the curious eyes of the other two players at the table. Lowering his voice, he continued. "Amber, I'm not sure what kind of plan you've been working on, but I cannot-"

"Yes, you can," Amber interrupted. "It's not like he isn't getting compensated. Just one light punch and he'll stay down." She swept a quick, apologetic gaze along his frame. "He also knows that he may have to exaggerate his injuries a little. You're not twenty-one anymore," she concluded defensively.

He rolled his eyes but chose not to comment on the slight. As he opened his mouth to continue to argue the point of the plan, the band singer began singing the opening lyrics to _"Leave a Tender Moment Alone" _and Wilson felt his entire stomach unseat and flip completely over at the familiar melody. He'd forgotten how much he'd associated this song with this twenty-year-old friendship.

_But if that's how I feel  
Then it's the best feeling I've ever known.  
It's undeniably real  
Leave a tender moment alone._

Forcibly tuning out the song and returning his attention to the hand, he requested that he and Amber be dealt in.

"So, House," Amber began, and Wilson worked at not looking concerned that she was addressing him, "how long have you been with Dr. Cuddy here?"

House glanced at her, then at his girlfriend, then, for whatever reason, at Wilson. "Almost four years," he replied after a moment. House's eyes moved to Cuddy again, and as Wilson watched them he thought he felt a strange crackle in the air. They'd seemed fine at the hotel, but now there was a wall of ice between them. They had barely spoken to each other since he'd sat down.

Wilson was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even comprehend House's answer until Amber commented, "Long time."

"Four _years," _Wilson repeated, shocked from his thoughts. "_Four years?" _How was that possible? When House had dated Cuddy in Reality, they hadn't made it a year, torn apart because (in Wilson's completely unbiased opinion, of course) Cuddy hadn't been able to live up to her promise of accepting House as he was, flaws and all. And now they'd been together four years? Which meant that they'd started dating . . . He did the calculations in his head. The year Wilson met Amber. So they'd been together since '07 or '08.

How had they done it this time?

_Even though I'm in love,  
Sometimes I get so afraid.  
I'll say something so wrong,  
Just so I have something to say._

Oh, right. He'd forgotten that he needed to be paying attention to how many times the band had played what had become the most important song in his life. Apparently this was only round two. He glanced to the front of the room and found Doctor From the Middle of Nowhere standing by the bass player, and when he saw Wilson looking, he gave him a discreet thumbs up.

Great.

He turned back to the table, and noticed that Cuddy, House, and Amber were all staring at him, evidently waiting for him to speak.

"Dr. Cudddy asked you why you seemed so surprised," Amber explained. He had a feeling she'd guessed that he'd been distracted.

He turned to his boss, who was studying him with narrowed eyes. "I'm not surprised," he lied, but he had no idea if they saw through him or not. "I just didn't realize it had been that long, is all." He saw Amber's expression, so he asked a question of his own. "How did you meet? Did you ever tell me that story?"

Cuddy stared at him for a moment, as though unsure as to whether or not he was making fun of her, but then she shrugged. "We met in college. We slept together."

"You make it sound so romantic," House quipped.

She ignored him. "Then I hired him a few years ago, when no one would." (Here Wilson inwardly flinched at the callous wording, but reminded himself that House was old enough to defend himself - and plus it might look a little odd if he jumped to the defense of someone he supposedly barely knew.) "So, he worked for me, convinced me to create a "Diagnostics" department, and everything was going fine. He wanted three members for his team, but, I'll admit, the day he asked, I was in a particularly bad mood-"

"My fault," House chimed in. It was clear that he was cheering up, but Wilson wasn't sure if it was because of the story of House and Cuddy's roots, or the memory of terrorizing his boss.

_I know the moment isn't right,  
To tell the girl a comical line.  
To keep the conversation light,  
I guess I'm just frightened out of my mind._

Three . . .

"So, I'd only given him two. And, anyway, everything was good, and then this police detective, Tritter, started making it his life's mission to drive House's existence into the ground." She paused her tale to glance at House, who gave a nod of approval. "Eventually he found a way to make House lose his medical license. Apologizing isn't exactly one of House's strong suits. And things just progressed from there. I went over to his place a lot. Visited with him, made sure he hadn't burned his apartment to the ground. And then he asked me out."

Wilson and Amber had been listening to her story with rapt attention and when it came to an end they both turned to House for confirmation.

He made no disagreement, but Wilson had known his friend much too long to believe such thinly veiled anger. The smile that was now forced wasn't fooling him.

_Even though I'm in love,  
Sometimes I get so afraid  
I'll say something so wrong,  
Just so I'll have something to say._

Four . . .

Four was his cue. Excusing himself from the table of players, Wilson got to his feet, and crossed the room in six long strides. The kid that he'd never known stood by the band and gave him a quick wink before Wilson began his lines.

"You _must_ be kidding me," he nearly shouted, speaking extra loudly so that House would be sure to hear. "Four times you get the band to play the same song?"

The kid glared at him in a very passable impression of anger. "It's not my fault they take requests," he argued.

"So request something else!"

"How about I request my _foot _up your _ass!"_

Wilson had to give Amber and the kid props. This fight did feel very familiar.

"Hey guys," Doctor From Nowhere said, "how about you start it over? My friend over here says that he hates that he missed it."

The band was clearly unsure of what to do, but after a moment's hesitation they began again.

Wilson's fist curled into a ball and before he could talk himself out of this, he reminded himself that Brennan (_Brennan! That's right!) _was getting paid for all of this, and he swung.

His knuckles connected with the kid's cheek, but considering the disconnected way he collapsed to the floor, Wilson was certain he hadn't hurt him at all. He had to keep himself from bending down just to be sure, but then Brennan cracked one of his eyes open, and stared up at him through the slit.

Wilson wasn't through yet. He nervously squeezed his glass, then hurled it at the mirror behind the bar, and the glass splintered beautifully. It cracked from end to end, with resounding resonance, drawing the attention of every single person there. He found Amber immediately, watching the scene from across the room. She gave him a large smile, and then pointed at House, who was standing several yards in front of her.

House looked as if he'd never seen anything in his whole life until that moment. He was staring at Wilson, completely in awe over what had transpired, his face pale and sweaty, like he'd seen a ghost. And Wilson was thrilled, he truly was, by House's reaction, but he'd known right away that it hadn't been enough to trigger his friend's memory. House _may_ have guessed that there was something amiss, but he hadn't approached Wilson and demanded to know what was going on, and the scene hadn't changed.

Brilliant plan or not, it hadn't worked.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **So, I had this entire chapter written yesterday, except for the last sentence. Then my boss's nephew walked in, as he works where I do, and I had to exit the thing before I could post it. Very annoying. Anyway, the exchange in this episode is from No More Mr. Nice Guy, and it's one of my favorite House/Wilson moments of all time for exactly the reason that Wilson is thinking.

Wilson shifted on the bed in his cell, and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. He'd forgotten how cold these things could be, and the officers had taken his jacket and his shoes (swapping them out for flip flops) when they'd arrested him.

He still couldn't believe it hadn't worked. All the planning, all the hope that he'd invested in tonight's fiasco . . . Gone. Brought to nothing. And the pathetic part about it all was that he had been utterly taken aback by the failure. He'd truly been expecting the little light bulb to go off in House's head, the way it always did. A Housian epiphany to save the day. Maybe jogging House's memory wouldn't have immediately set everything back the way it was, but he'd have had his best friend there to help him and Amber figure out a solution. House always seemed to know what to do.

Tears began sliding down his cheeks.

And now . . . what? What were he and Amber supposed to do? Give up? Live the lives that they had been given, and learn to be grateful for them? Maybe if he tried he could rebuild a friendship with House. This wasn't exactly the same man that he loved, but he was close, and with time, maybe they'd find a way to make it work. And hell, maybe he was being selfish, anyway, to be so determined to restore his old life. Amber said she'd wanted it too, but she easily could have been lying. Saying that she was okay with returning to her ghostly form, when really she craved being alive again. He supposed he'd have to talk to her, see what she wanted to do. Maybe it would be best for everyone involved if he and Amber were to just leave town. Let House be in his relationship with Cuddy, let him be happy. After everything, Wilson was more convinced than ever that he would never be able to love anyone else, but maybe that would be okay. Maybe Amber would understand.

_My team thinks that I have syphilis._

Do you?

Not yet.

Why do they think you do?

Because I knew that they had access to an old blood sample, and I knew they'd test it sometime for something.

Why would you swap your blood? What are you afraid they'll find?

Shut up, you're missing the point. Now, they think that I'm on penicillin.

Is this some clever practical joke that I'm not aware of?

And as I get better, I get nicer.  
  
He felt the corners of his lips turn up as he had a flash of one of his favorite memories of him and his best friend. It was nothing special - not like the night House told Wilson he'd be alone without him, or when Wilson had bought the organ. It was just . . . them being them. Having fun together. Laughing.

Being happy.

Happy. He could barely even remember that emotion.

The sound of a door opening and then shutting met his ears, and he peered through the window above the bed. The officer that had brought him inside was inserting her key into the lock, and when it clicked, she swung the door open. "Someone posted your bail," she told him, gesturing for him to follow her down the hall, back the way he had come when they'd brought him in.

He was surprised. He'd thought for sure he was going to be stuck there overnight, because as far as he knew, Amber didn't have the funds that easily accessible. But he definitely wasn't going to complain.

Especially when he saw who had _actually _come to his rescue. Again.

"You're here," he said, staring at House with undisguised astonishment.

House shrugged. "I took care of it."

"Why," he breathed. "Why would you?"

"Don't look so surprised. I wasn't going to let you rot in jail. I mean, I could have. I almost did. But that girl that you're seeing, I heard her on the phone with someone, flipping the fuck out because she couldn't raise the money to get you released. Don't take this the wrong way, but she's kind of a cut-throat bitch."

Wilson laughed, and it was ridiculous, the way the euphoria hit him full force. "I've heard that before."

They walked together in silence until they reached the door to the police station and then before Wilson could even create a reason that would force House to stay, his friend was inviting him to go get a beer.

"If you want," House finished, with a display of nonchalance that seasoned Wilson saw straight through.

"Yeah, let's go get a drink," he agreed, and as his heart banged back and forth against his ribcage, he followed House to his car.

The drive to Sammy's was short, so they didn't talk much in the car. Wilson spent his time texting Amber to tell her what was going on, and debating which of his and House's many past topics of conversation he should broach once they were seated. When Amber texted him back, she encouraged him to _D__o that thing you always do._

What thing he'd replied. _Get a patient to have a surgery they don't want?_

_Connect with your friend._

As they stepped inside the bar Amber's instructions played over and over again in his mind, as if on repeat.

"I'll have a Bud light," he told the server, when he came by to take their drink order.

House rolled his eyes. "He means a shot of Bourbon. Make it two. Actually, six."

As the server departed to get their drinks Wilson shifted in his seat. He wanted to say something: thank House for the gesture, beg him to marry him, come completely clean about it all, any of those would have worked. But when House had picked him up from jail in Reality it was because he had needed something (a friend) so Wilson waited to hear what it was he needed now.

House didn't speak until the liquor was upon them, and he downed his first shot without so much as a toast. "So, what is Cut-Throat-Bitch to you," he finally asked, as he reached for the second glass.

Wilson choked on his shot and coughed for a full thirty seconds. It was just too much to hear that voice he'd heard every day for twenty years asking him the nature of his and Amber's relationship. It could have been four years ago. "Just a . . . friend," he gasped out. "She's my ex . . . We . . . only recently ran into each other again." He liked that that was pretty close to the truth.

House nodded thoughtfully, then switched gears. "I want you to tell me why you're so interested in my relationship with Cuddy."

Whatever Wilson had been expecting from this conversation, that wasn't it. "Your relationship with Cuddy? I don't _want_ her if that's what you're thinking."

House chuckled. "_I'm_ not sure what I'm thinking. Except that you ask a lot of questions about my relationship, when you don't ask me one about myself. You haven't even asked if I'm a closet drug addict."

"Well, I try not to ask questions that I know the answer to. It's redundant."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"I don't put much stock in hospital gossip."

"You didn't answer my question. What's your interest with me and Cuddy?"

Wilson sighed. Why had he thought that House would let the subject drop? It wasn't as if this was the first time that he'd met the man. He decided on more half-truths. "I just don't understand it," he admitted.

House stared at him, his expression unreadable. "You don't think I'm good enough for her," he answered in a resigned sort of tone, as if he had heard this before from other sources. "You don't know anything about-"

"That's not it at all," Wilson interjected. He found the words immediately, the ones he hadn't said the last time House and Cuddy had been together. "I just don't know why you'd want to be with her."

And again House examined him and this time Wilson recognized surprise. "Not what I thought you were going to say."

"House, I'm sorry, but I really don't get it. I mean . . . Is she what you want? Does she get you? Appreciate you? Accept you for you? Not want you to change . . .?" He cleared his throat, because he was pretty sure House could take him, limp and all, if he thought Wilson was disrespecting his girlfriend. How could he explain this so that it would make sense? "Cuddy just seems like the kind of woman to expects things to be a certain way, you know?" He finished his first shot, and moved on to the second one. "And if they're not they way she wants, she would tweak 'em. Make them so that they fit in her version of the world."

"Maybe I need that," House answered softly. "Maybe it's time for me to grow up."

Wilson couldn' t bite his tongue. "_Maybe _it's time for you to go back to being the selfish asshole that I know you can be and stop compromising yourself." He gave him a reassuring smile. "You're more interesting as House than you are as Cuddy's boyfriend." Then, telling himself that it was totally innocent - that he was trying to be supportive, and plus, he hadn't touched House in days now - he reached over and squeezed House's shoulder.

There was a shot of electricity, and he wasn't sitting in Sammy's anymore. He was laying on a hospital bed, watching himself (himself?) through a long windowpane, face red, eyes puffy, and then as he continued to stare, he (the Wilson on the other side of the glass) turned and walked away.

And just like that, he was back at Sammy's unsure of what, exactly had happened. He started to ask House if he was exhibiting any physical symptoms, but when he saw the look on House's face, his voice died in his throat. His friend was staring at him with an expression somewhere between scared and confused. For a second Wilson was worried he was having a stroke until House's eyes focused on him.

"What's wrong," Wilson asked him, though he thought he knew. Thought he could guess, based on what he had just seen.

"I'm . . . not sure," was his friend's very soft response. "I don't feel too good. I think these shots are going to my head." Wilson chose not to point out that he'd only finished one. "I'm going to go on home." And without another word, he departed from the bar.

Minutes ticked by as Wilson tried to work out what had just transpired. One minute things were all, well, puppies and rainbows, and then . . . He had a flash. A memory? Of him looking at himself? And House had a meltdown. But the weird thing about the flash was that it seemed familiar to him. He just wasn't sure . . . And it hit him. Why he had seen himself. Why House had flipped out.

Wilson wasn't the one that had had a memory. It was House. _House. _House, that had laid in that hospital bed, _House, _that had watched his best friend, broken over the loss of his girlfriend, be unable to enter the same room as him.

House, that was starting to remember.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Okay, I know quite literally _nothing_ about Carnegie Lake in NJ, and I have no idea if you can rent boats out there or what. What I do know is that, with the lakes by me, you can do all the things I mentioned in this chapter. Hope I don't offend anyone from Princeton with my ignorance. Oh, and you have my apologies because I'm ending it at one of the most annoying points that I could have, simply because I gotta leave pretty soon. If you read, please review.

"And then what did he say," Amber demanded for what Wilson thought was quite possibly the 35th time in the last twelve hours. It was the next morning, and the pair of them were having brunch at _Luke's_, a small diner on the outskirts of Princeton, rehashing his run-in with House yet again. Wilson could have cheerfully dropped the subject while they ate, as merely thinking about it caused his stomach to tie up into knots, but to his female cohort, that was not even an option.

Wilson sighed. "Nothing. He turned around and left," he reminded her. "The outcome isn't going to change, no matter how many times you have me tell it."

Amber lapsed into pensive silence, and Wilson took the opportunity to take a big bite of his BLT. Delicious.

"Well," she finally said, after several moments of thought, "you know what we have to do now, I'm sure."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, and then bit into his sandwich again. "What's that?"

"We're going to have to recreate another moment." When he didn't answer she continued. "I mean, don't get me wrong, your touches are, uh, very special and everything, but I'm guessing that they're not the reason for the reality check. Though I do think they're the reason that you saw his memory." She shrugged. "Whatever. The rules of Magic Land are complicated and more than a little confusing. I'm guessing it has something to do with-" She said this part with the utmost disdain,"_True love_ and all that. But you'll have to be the one to come up the trigger-memory, because the last one was my idea."

He let his mind travel, going over his friendship with House backwards, then forwards. He had been thinking about this the night before, unable to sleep as he tried to come up with a memory, meaningful enough to be an emotional trigger, but easy enough to recreate. He had been utterly lost, but now, sitting with Amber, an idea assaulted him almost right away. "We need to go to the lake."

"The . . . lake," she repeated slowly. "That doesn't sound familiar."

Wilson smiled, thinking back on the one time he had been able to successfully convince his best friend, in all his injured-leg glory, to go with him to Carnegie Lake. There had been trickery involved, of course. He'd had to lie just to get House into the car, and then bribe him with the promise of all the alcohol he could ask for once they arrived. "We went last year," he told Amber. "Stayed all day. Made a little bet as to who could catch the biggest fish."

"Who won?"

"I think it was a tie. Neither of us caught anything. Apparently fish prefer it if you remember to bring bait."

"Snobs," Amber agreed, smirking a little. "But I fail to see the Epic Friendship moment."

"It was the first time I told him I loved him."

Amber looked up, surprise coloring her fair features, but Wilson wasn't paying too close attention. He was remembering the day like it was yesterday, replaying it in his mind. House, looking so comfortable in the green sweatshirt, while he complained endlessly about the cold on his leg, and the way the air had stilled suddenly, as though heralding the perfect moment. The burst of determination, the lump in his throat that he had difficulty swallowing.

"I love you," he'd said, without preamble or qualifiers. He'd shrugged, not wanting to convey just how serious he was. "You said it to me when you electrocuted yourself. I thought I'd return the favor."

He'd turned away, but in his peripherals he'd watched House stare at him

"You'd just upped my meds. It's not really the same thing." Wilson hadn't been exactly sure what to say to that, so he'd remained quiet until House had continued. "But, whatever. It wasn't the pain killers. Though I feel the need to warn you that if this gets repeated to anyone - including Sarah - I'll lure you out here and drown you right here."

"So, are you going to call him," Amber asked him now, prodding him with a fry.

He withdrew his cellphone, and began punching in House's number. The phone rang twice before a familiar voice picked up.

"Hello?"

Wilson inhaled sharply. Then coughed. "Uh, hi, Cuddy," he stammered, shooting Amber a panicked look across the table. She smiled back serenely. "I was actually calling for -"

"House," Cuddy interrupted, sounding fairly angry, considering that he hadn't said more than ten words since she'd answered the phone. "I mean, why shouldn't you be calling for House? Obviously you guys are best friends now-"

"Cuddy," Wilson heard House snap in the background. "I already told you-"

"Hold on, Wilson," Cuddy instructed loudly, talking over in her boyfriend. There was a hustling, the sound of a door slamming, then the voice he'd been expecting came on the line.

"Wilson?"

"What's going on," Wilson asked, still a little stunned by what he had heard. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," House replied. "Well, Cuddy's on the warpath. Apparently one of her friends spotted me at the bar last night, and did a little eavesdropping."

Cold fear gripped Wilson and he moaned. "Oh, God. She hates me."

"Not hate exactly. Something close, though."

"Oh, _God_."

"Wilson, please. She'll get over it," House chided. "So, did you call me for a reason, or merely to terrorize my girlfriend?"

"Well," Wilson began, trying to ignore the nervousness that fluttered up into his stomach. He reminded himself that he had done this very thing many many times before. "I know it's not great timing, clearly, but I was wondering what you might be doing today?"

"Why," House asked, suspicion and curiosity battling in his tone.

"Wondered if you wanted to go somewhere?"

"Somewhere? What's that Wilson-code for?"

He grinned. "I'll be there in 30." And he hung up the phone. Then he glanced at Amber, who was looking slightly forlorn and said to her, "Oh relax. We'll find a way for you to come."

"Well, you did get the last one without me."

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

~~

True to his word, Wilson showed up outside House's apartment at a quarter to eleven, and, just like he had the year before, honked the horn twice. House came outside almost immediately, wearing a blue sweater and jeans, and got into the passenger side.

"I hope you're not a Jimmy Buffett fan," he teased, the careless smile Wilson knew in place.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Can't say that I am."

For several minutes the men sat in amiable silence, House having evidently decided that asking Wilson about their destination would be fruitless. Wilson stared out the window as he drove, letting his friend have full reign over the radio, the buzzing in and out as House searched for a station comfortable somehow. When he'd settled on, of all things, _Jessie's Girl,_ Wilson let out a low chuckle.

House frowned at him. "You think Rick Springfield's misery is funny? People have burned in the fire-y lake for less."

"Oh, so now you believe in hell?"

"You oncologists. So literal."

The scenery leading up to the lake was nothing terribly exciting. Foliage, but that was to be expected. As Wilson pulled into the parking lot by the boat rental, House crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his chin.

"I don't kayak," he said with deep loathing.

Wilson inwardly smiled. "Come on, it'll be fun," he coerced. He cocked his head to the side as he'd seen his friend do many times before to appeal to the sympathy of some unsuspecting victim. "We're already here."

"Because you refused to tell me where we were going," House pointed out. "Because you're smart enough to know that I wouldn't agree to this under any other circumstances."

"Gregory House called someone else smart," Wilson said incredulously. "And there I was thinking the weather was a little too warm for hell to have frozen over."

"Wilson-"

"Come on," he whined, and it was such a role reversal that he blinked.

"Fine," House snapped, and Wilson let the victorious grin spread across his face.

"Good call. I'll be right back."

The last time he and House had came here, as he'd told Amber, they had been in it for fishing. But the current situation didn't exactly call for hours of silence, so once again, he was forced to do some tweaking to make the memory fit. This time he settled on a long canoe, deciding that he could easily to the rowing himself, especially since the spot they were headed to was very close by. They had a black design with bright orange flames on the side that he quickly retrieved for the two of them.

When Wilson returned, he beckoned House to approach, then tried not to laugh when House angrily batted away the help of the employee from the rental place.

"I think you made her cry," Wilson said, once they were both situated. He adjusted the oars, and they began floating away from the dock. He tried to surreptitiously search the gaps in between the trees as they passed them.

House rolled his eyes. "Then she needs thicker skin. Honestly, it didn't occur to her that cripples might have pride too?" He sat back, and looked around them. "Now that we're here, I suppose this isn't the worst idea you could have thought up."

Wilson felt the shiver of pleasure shoot up his back, but he kept his face neutral.

"Wanna tell me why you brought me out here," House finally asked, just as he had before.

Wilson shrugged, but, having known House, one version or another, for so long, he also knew he wasn't going to be left alone until he had provided a sufficient answer. "I'll tell you," he answered carefully, though he still wasn't sure how far he was going to take this little trip down memory lane. It seemed a little, uh, rash to tell this man that he supposedly met only a couple of days before that he loved him. But, despite what Amber had said, Wilson firmly believed that it was emotion that had packed the ginkgo-type punch. So he needed to give him a legitimate shock. "I'll tell you," he repeated. "But first, let me ask you something."

"Not really the way this traditionally works."

"Do I really not seem at all familiar to you?"

And House looked up, and really looked at him, really examined him, more closely than he had at all since their world had changed. Wilson stared back, then slid a little closer. It was only then that he realized that their boat had completely stopped moving, and exactly where it was supposed to. He felt the sun warm his back, the same way that it had; the trees had parted and made way for a long clearing of (familiar) peaceful water. The scent of the surrounding trees and greenery was overpowering. And he slid closer again.

"Wilson," House said, a quiet warning, but by now it was far too late. Because, what it all really came down to was that Wilson was so. Fucking. Tired. Tired of pretending that he didn't know his best friend, tired of being made to forget everything they had been so close to being for each other. Tired tired _tired _of pretending that he didn't need every single inch of the man sitting in front of him. And so he slowly leaned in, and closed the distance between their lips.

There was a sharp gasp from House, and then no sound at all. Wilson pressed against House with everything he had, drawing out the kiss as long as he could, moving his lips with increasing speed. And then, presumably he had a heart attack, and died, because that was the only explanation for what happened next. Which was that House suddenly gripped the sleeves of Wilson's long sleeved shirt, and pulled him closer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Written on my birthday (4-29), which means chapter 11 is all puppies and sunflowers. Well, not all of it, but most of it, at least.

Amid the fireworks, and rainbows, and dancing leprechauns, he was dimly aware of cheering. His first thought was that the leprechauns were voicing their approval of this world-ending kiss, but then the cheering got louder, and he realized that it was a literal voice - not just a metaphor for what was the brightest moment of his life. He didn't want to pull away from House; he wasn't ready to deal with the disappointment that was right around the corner when he was forced to deal with House's reaction to his new friend kissing him breathless, but the shouting didn't die down, so he slowly moved away, dropping his eyes so he wouldn't have to see House's revulsion.

"Woo! Yeah!"

He looked sharply to his left, and in between two large oaks was Amber, clapping quite enthusiastically, the biggest smile he'd ever seen spreading across her face.

"You did it," she yelled from the bank, and then resumed her clapping.

Oh God. Right. He'd known she was there, somewhere among the foliage, but their agreement was that she was going to be a silent observer, and give her feedback when they met later at their rendezvous. She definitely wasn't supposed to be giving his moment with House a standing ovation.

"I'd like to point out, that that was _definitely _not a part of this memory."

Wilson froze, and turned to the speaker, the speaker who wasn' t Amber.

House was staring at him, completely ignoring the one-woman cheerleading squad. The eyes that he had been so terrified of mere moments before were bright with pure knowledge of what was going on. No confusion, no witch-induced lies. No disbelief that someone he barely knew had been unable to stop kissing him. Because Wilson wasn't someone _this _House barely knew.

His heart began to swell. Hope that had seemed so unattainable these last few days, so out of his reach, was suddenly right there, right in front of him, reminding him what he'd been fighting for. "You remember," he could barely ask, still slightly scared of the answer.

House grinned in that way that always made WIlson's legs feel like they were made out of jelly, then turned to Amber, who had finally stopped screaming. "Cut-Throat-Bitch," he called. "How'd you get back from the dead?"

"You can blame your mother-in-law," she yelled back.

He sighed, then leaned in and gave Wilson another quick kiss. "We're together now, okay," House told him, smirking when Wilson's cheeks burned red. "I don't care if we're in a bizarre alternate reality or the reality we're from, we're together. I love you, it seems pretty clear that you love me. So . . . we're together now. That alright with you?"

Wilson shrugged. "Whatever. If that's what you want." But he supposed his nonchalance was slightly undercut by the beaming he couldn't fight when House reached over and brushed some of his hair away from his forehead.

"This is all really romantic and everything," Amber called sarcastically. "But can you guys get out of the boat already? I'm kinda bored over here."

When Wilson and House had extricated themselves from the canoe, the three made their way back to Wilson's car while Amber filled in the blanks about the situation that her former boss didn't know. She explained about the stop by Father Chase's (at which point she'd had to take a break in the storytelling because House was laughing so hard he was crying), their confrontation with Arlene, how she admitted everything.

"Cuddy's mom did this," House asked in astonishment. "How?"

"Not exactly sure," Wilson answered. "Right before I woke up in the middle of the street, she'd called me over to her house, said she wanted to talk to me. So I went over, and she gave me this water that tasted absolutely disgusting, which I assume she laced with something. And then one _pop _later, the world had changed."

"Seriously, could the Cuddy family be more irritating," Amber quipped.

House frowned and leaned back against the car. "Wilson, you said you think there was something in the drink?"

He shrugged. "I'd guess so. I heard no spells cast; she didn't _seem_ to be possessed by an evil spirit. So I assumed the next guess would be potion."

"Let's go," House said abruptly, opening the driver's side door, then holding out his hand for WIlson's keys. "But I'm driving."

"Ghost calls shotgun," Amber chimed in.

"You're not a ghost," House reminded her.

"Undead calls shotgun."

~~

From the backseat Wilson silently watched House and Amber bicker over the radio. It was strange, observing the two of them, seeing the way things might have worked out if he'd dated House to begin with, if Amber had lived. He knew that neither of them would ever admit it, but they could have been friends, he thought. They argued, sure, but they were funny together, and arguing was something they both enjoyed.

"I'm just saying," Amber was teling House, "that listening to classical music in the womb increases intelligence."

"And _I'm _just saying that I'm already as intelligent as I care to be, and neither you nor Wilson are in a womb."

Wilson smiled lightly to himself. _There weren't enough of these kinds of moments_, he thought, _when Amber was alive._ When Amber was alive. He felt a constriction in his chest as he finally allowed himself to think the thoughts he'd refused to even address up until now. Amber would be dead again soon. They'd fix the world, and she'd go back to being a memory - a woman he loved (not the way that he loved House, not anymore, but that he _did _love, in a way) that he'd have to learn to do without. He'd gotten so used to seeing her, to appealing to her for help, that it almost didn't seem real that she hadn't been alive this whole time.

It really wasn't fair. It was always one or the other with these two. He hadn't been able to maintain his friendship with House when he was dating Amber, and now he was with House the way he'd always wanted to be, and he would have to send Amber off to her death.

"Stop doing that to yourself," House commanded from behind the wheel, so loud that Wilson jumped. He hadn't realized that House had been watching him in the rearview mirror.

"What," Amber asked, spinning around in her seat, and examining him carefully.

"He's obsessing about what's going to happen to you when this is all over with."

"Oh," she answered, as easily as if he'd told her Wilson was obsessing over a new book he was reading. "Well, I already told him that I'm fine with it."

Wilson glared at both of them, but his heart wasn't in it. "Stop acting like I'm not here. It's annoying."

"Like I could act like you're not here," House replied, catching his eye in the mirror and then winking. Wilson tried not to smile back, but failed.

"I'm just worried about her," he said quietly.

House nodded at Amber. "Pretty sure that's your cue."

"You're the boyfriend."

"You're the one he's all upset about."

"You're doing it again."

Amber turned around and faced Wilson once more. "Look, you have to stop beating yourself up about all this stuff. I mean, for God's sakes, you just landed the man of your dreams, and you're stripping yourself of all your enjoyment. Don't-" she cut House off as he opened his mouth, "say '_dirty.' _It's too easy."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I don't want you to die again."

"I know," she said softly, reaching out and squeezing one of his hands. "Would it make you feel better if I promise to haunt you guys, like twice a week?"

He grinned, and though his grief hadn't abated he did have to admit, "Yeah, that would help."

~~

Wilson hadn't been entirely sure of where House was going to take them, but when they pulled into Arlene Cuddy's driveway he found that he wasn't surprised. Of course the world-class diagnostician would have to see the proof for himself, that was the way he did things.

Once again familiarity warmed his insides.

House beat both Amber and Wilson out of the car, and approached the house with surprising speed. There was no other car in the drive way, but that didn't keep him from pounding on the door with such force that Amber and Wilson stood a couple of steps back.

Wilson hadn't considered that House might be as angry as he was, but he supposed that he was, after all, the one who had lost the most - his best friend, the man he (evidently) loved, his career, his freedom, even the Lisa Cuddy that he had known.

"Arlene," he shouted through the wooden door. "Arlene!"

"I don't think she's here," Amber volunteered.

House pursed his lips. "Wilson, kick the door down."

Wilson's eyebrows raised to his hairline. "Um. No . . ."

"I want there to be some lasting damage, and my leg hurts. Kick it down."

"How about we pick the lock," Amber offered, "and then we break stuff _inside_." House still appeared to be on the fence until she added. "I'm pretty sure I saw a case of Precious Moments figurines. Think of all the broken glass." When he sighed, Wilson knew she had won.

It took a couple of tries, but even in the alternate reality House still had lockpicking down to a science. Wilson had been slightly nervous that locks might not be the only protection the house had against intruders (he wasn't exactly sure how the whole 'evil witch' thing worked), but it turned out there was nothing to be afraid of.

"So, did we really just come here to destroy her possessions," Wilson asked, "because I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Amber rolled her eyes, then pulled one of the figurines from the case and dropped it to the hardwood floor, where it shattered. "I don't know, but that was pretty fun."

"We're looking for her secret potion lab," House answered, before guiding Amber aside, and pushing the entire cabinet over. The resulting crash wasn't as loud as Wilson had been expecting, but it was a little disenheartening to see the Precious Moments people without their limbs. "_That _was just for fun."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Well, folks, we're getting down to the wire. Odds are, this is the second to last chapter. I might even finish and also post the last chapter tonight. Probably not, but we'll see. Oh, and this chapter is like 500 words shorter than all the others. No clue why.

They searched Arlene's house for several minutes, and after a while it felt as though their efforts would be fruitless. There was nothing of note in the attic or basement, and the cabinets contained only food. It looked like any other house in America, and it wasn't until Amber had gone back out and moved the car down the street just in case, and Wilson began considering the possibility that they should throw in the towel, that he entered what was evidently the guest room, and eyed the closet door suspiciously.

"House," he called after a moment. "Amber!" When they joined him, he walked over to the closet, pulled the door open, and knocked quietly on the back wall. He knew what the hollow sound insinuated, but he looked to the others for confirmation.

Amber was beside him a heartbeat later, pushing aside the boxes lining the floor so she could see it better, then stooping, and running a finger along a tiny line in the flooring. Finally she let out a gasp of joy. "Ah ha!"

"What'd you find," House demanded sharply.

She followed the line up the wall, where it almost got lost in the wallpaper, then she pressed her fingernail against one section neither man would have been able to find again if their lives depended on it. There was the sound of a lock clicking, then another door appeared and popped open.

"We are so gonna die," Wilson muttered, and the three began slowly entering the hidden room.

At first nobody spoke, and Wilson had to assume that the other two's voices had died in their throats as well. He stared around in wonder, trying to ignore the icy chill that shot up his back. There was so much to take in that he had to tell himself not to overreact. He took a deep breath, and began really looking around.

There was a table in the center of the room, and he was relieved to see no evidence of an animal sacrifice. He defintely wasn't trying to slaughter some poor, defenseless, little Bambi. Out of the corner of his eye he caught House's small smirk , and knew his partner knew his thoughts.

The surrounding walls were filled with shelves containing several small, clear bottles filled with different colored liquids, and books that he had never heard of. _Potion-Making In Practice, Summoning Beasts (Without Losing Their Allegiance), The World You Want, Tweak The Past For A Better Tomorrow . . . _The last title he carefully withdrew and examined.

_Changing the past has never been an exact science, _he read, _but for some witches and warlocks it can be the key to a near-perfect reality. Consider the possibilities! Being able to go back and tell that special someone how you feel before they die, study for a test you failed, or invest a small fortune in stock that you know will turn around. Some may preach about 'personal gain' but this author's philosophy is 'live and let live.'_

As to the right potion for such a task, it's been my personal experience that combining a potion for time travel and a potion for control tends to give the best result. But make sure, if it's not your own past that you're changing (which this author does not _encourage as that can be very dangerous), to add a memory altering potion as well. Otherwise the subject may become aware of the changes, and try to set it back._

Wilson swallowed hard, then flipped to the back of the book, where the reversals were, and there it was, in black and white: _Reality Reset._

His eyes flew across the page, excitement pumping in his ears, so heavy he couldn't take anything in. He took another deep breath, then began reading again.

_Negating a Reality Altering potion -_

"What was that?"

Wilson jumped a mile at House's words, and spun around to face him. His blue eyes were narrowed as he cocked his head to the side, listening, and Amber slipped closer to the two men. Wilson opened his mouth to mock House when he heard what he'd been talking about. A rustling sound was coming from the whereabouts of the kitchen.

Amber moved with lightening speed and clamped her hand around the door handle on their side, and pulled it shut behind them. "We should probably hide," she hissed when neither man moved.

"Why," House argued. "There are three of us. Pretty sure, even with the cripple here, we can take her." Wilson wordlessly held up _Summoning Beasts _and House nodded quickly. "Okay, okay, sold."

He and Wilson found a spot on the far side of the room, between the side of the bookshelf and the wall; Amber ducked under another table that was set up on the left side of the room, the black table cloth partially hiding her. As she slid her knees up to her chest, the door to the room was flung open.

"They think they can beat _me," _roared the furious, female voice.

Wilson felt House's arms slip around his waist, pulling him closer and hiding him more securely.

"I'll kill them," she shrieked. Wilson could hear her flipping frantically through the pages of some book, and when she came to the page she was searching for, he listened to her tear it out. "That idiot, Wilson, couldn't mind his own damn _business_ and now look what he's driven me to. He could have just _lived _the _fucking life I gave him _but no. That wasn't good enough. He and that snooty blond had to mess everything up, and now I'll have to kill all three. Just perfect."

And with those final words she departed from the room and the house.

It was a full minute before any of them could breathe easy again, but eventually Wilson did relax against House's hold, which still hadn't loosened.

"So, I'm thinking it's time to go," Amber finally said, crawling out from her hiding spot. "Did anyone find anything?"

House shook his head, but Wilson held up the copy of _Tweak The Past For A Better Tomorrow. "_There's a reversal in here," he answered.

"Oh, thank God," House muttered. "I think Mrs. Cuddy may have lost her mind, just a little."

"Let's look at it from the safety of the car," Amber declared, leading the way to the door. And right before Wilson followed both his cohorts out of the "secret potion lab" he stole a glace at which book Arlene had been searching through.

He decided not to tell Amber or House that it was _Summoning Beasts._

~~

A half hour later found the three sitting at a corner table in tiny cafe, the large brown book laid out in front of them, opened to the reversal page.

"I don't understand," Amber stated. "What does it mean?"

Wilson frowned and read it again:

_"'Negating a Reality Altering potion can be done two ways. The most effective method is, of course, __having the original potion-drinker drink the Reality Altering potion once again. That will immediately set the original course of time back on track._ _Unfortunately, it must be from the same batch, so this isn't always a feasible solution.' _No shit, Sherlock," he added.

"Save the commentary for when we're out of this," House instructed, giving Wilson a small, affectionate grin.

"Sorry. Anyway, '_The second option is somewhat harder to accomplish, though there are no strict conditions. It's been said that triumphing a great ... hardship can be enough positive and negative energy to set the world back, when it's been tampered with through magic.'"_

Amber frowned. "Still don't understand."

"Well, option one is out," House said, pursing his lips in thought. "I can't imagine that Arlene's been saving the potion she made Wilson drink as a souvenir. But what counts as a hardship? Clinic duty? Adhering to consent forms?"

"I'm guessing not," Wilson answered him. When House frowned darkly, he chuckled. "Sorry, but hardships for House usually don't align with hardships for the world."

There was a moment of silence as all three contemplated their options. Then House got to his feet.

"Well," he said, "I guess this means that we gotta go see Cuddy. Lisa Cuddy."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **Here we are at the end, a bittersweet time. This is officially the longest fan fiction I've written, and also one of the weirdest, and I really appreciate everyone that took the time to read and review. BTW, I'm pretty thrilled that this week's episode of House showed Arlene pissed about his and Cuddy's breakup. I must be clairvoyant. Oh, and this chapter is super-long compared to the others, but I really couldn't make my tiny Epilogue its own chapter.  
**Author's Note 2: **The Charmed scene at the end is from Love's a Witch.

The sun had long since set in the New Jersey sky by the time that Amber, Wilson, and House made it to the hospital. It didn't _look_ different, Wilson supposed, but there was a strange sort of energy in the air that set him on edge. He found his hand reaching out to House's of its own accord, and when the long fingers wove through his own, he felt warmth spread through his arm .

"Would you relax," House's deep voice murmured against his ear. "I'm not in the least bit scared of my vindictive ex-mother-in-law-to-be."

"That's not a real thing," Amber stated, and they all stepped through the sliding glass doors.

And stopped dead in their tracks.

All around them was silence. There were no patients walking around, no doctors or nurses. A quick glance to their right showed that Cuddy wasn't in her office. All the hospital lights were dim. And it wasn't even storming, so what, other than lightening, would cause such a power surge? But of course Wilson knew.

"Arlene did this," House said, so matter-of-factly that Wilson and Amber both turned to him. "Don't ask me how - I'm a little low on details. Like, for example, where all the people went. Or, maybe I shouldn't be assuming. Who's to say that she didn't turn them invisible?"

Deciding that this was a rhetorical question, they continued their trek another four steps before they froze again. "Do you hear that," Amber whispered, but even as she spoke, the sound became louder and more pronounced.

If it wasn't Wilson's imagination, behind the nurse's station he was pretty sure he was hearing . . .

_Moaning._

"Oh my God," Wilson gasped. "She summoned Bloody Mary."

Amber and House snorted simultaneously. "You do know how to lighten the mood," Amber said, then with a deep breath (she wasn't fooling Wilson) she leaned over the side to look. "It's Cuddy!"

House and Wilson drew closer, and, sure enough, the Dean of Medicine lay bound and gagged behind the nurse's station, shrieking at the top of her lungs. Which, due to the towel tied securely around her mouth, was not, in itself, very effective.

Wilson was the first to move, and he flew to Cuddy's side to undo the knots. "What happened," he asked, none too gently, because the time for that had passed.

"My mom," Cuddy choked out, the bewilderment clear on her face. "I don't really get it. She showed up here, which I thought was weird, you know, considering everything. But, of course, I thought she was here to see me, so I started to walk over to her, and this young guy-"

"Minion," Amber muttered knowingly to House.

"Grabbed me from behind, saying that I couldn't interfere. And my mom started . . ." She paused to stare at them imploringly. "Chanting. Chanting, and everyone in the whole damn hospital just left." The vulnerability she'd been exhibiting suddenly hardened with determination. "What is going on?"

And Wilson knew that they had a choice. They could focus their efforts on helping Cuddy regain her memory, and enlist her help as well, or they could just send her away from the danger and hope she returned to normal when they fixed everything. He wished there was time to reach her, but they couldn't chance Arlene actually harming someone in her efforts to, well, kill them.

"Cuddy," Amber said quietly. She stole a glance at him and he saw that they agreed. "Listen to me. Your mom is sick. And we need to get to her, like, now. We aren't going to hurt her, but I'm warning you if that if you don't get out of here, odds are you're going to die in a way you'd never imagined. Tonight."

"My mother isn't going to kill me!"

"Not a bet I would take."

Cuddy's eyes widened slightly as she absorbed the information, but their serious expressions seemed to knock sense back into her. "Okay. I'll let you guys handle it if you're sure I can't help."

"Positive," House replied. "Now get the hell out of here."

She and Wilson got to their feet, and as he stepped back to House, he automatically found the other man's steadying hand.

Cuddy gave them a speculative glance. "You're a couple now? You and _Wilson_?"

"That's right," House snapped, and Wilson couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at the absence of hesitation. "I'm sorry, Cuddy, but it's always been Wilson."

"Always? You've only known him for-"

"Please feel free to discuss this at length," Amber interjected sarcastically. "Not like we have anything pressing to do."

Cuddy's gaze swept across the three of them before she departed without another word.

"Well, that wasn't awkward at all," Amber quipped as they continued their search.

Minutes ticked by as they checked each room on the bottom level until they had looped back around to their starting place. An ominous _boom _erupted above them, and they exchanged a nervous look.

"How are we going to get upstairs," Wilson asked, thinking of House's injured leg.

As if in response the elevator dinged in front of them, then opened, a clear invitation.

"Possessed elevators are not exactly what I had in mind.."

"Better ideas," House polled, and when the other two came up blank he gave a short nod and led the way.

"I feel like I should at least ask, she's not going to, like, raise us up a couple of levels and then let us smash into the floor, is she," Amber inquired, a little fearfully as the doors closed behind them.

Wilson and House didn't answer.

No one wasted time pressing a floor number, knowing that Arlene was controlling them. And no one was surprised when it dinged on the top floor.

There was a moment where nobody moved until Amber suddenly turned and faced them. "I kinda get the feeling that this is it," she said softly.

House gave a half-nod of acknowledgment. "Yeah, that's probably true." He shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes moving from Amber to Wilson and back again. "We're going to have to do the emotional goodbye thing, aren't we?"

"Afraid so," she replied, then she took Wilson's hands. "Don't be sad. I know how you get about this kind of stuff, but I mean, I'll be around." She grinned. "When you can't find you keys check your desk drawer."

Wilson stared back at her, wondering how he was supposed to do this again . He'd gotten a taste of a perfect world, and brave words or not, he could barely believe that if this worked, it would go back to being just him and House. An improved relationship to be sure, but he couldn't pretend that he wouldn't notice the void where the frustrating blond had been. But he reminded himself that he couldn't let this become about him and what made him happy. He summoned a mental image of the first patient of House's that came to mind, the young, adopted, Chinese girl that had been instrumental in their reconciliation. Were her parents visiting her in a hospital somewhere, or laying flowers on her grave?

"I'll miss you," he told Amber, pulling her into a tight hug. "Would have been nice, though."

"I know." They let each other go, and she turned to House. "It was fun."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever." But then his expression, well, it didn't soften, exactly, but relaxed just a bit. "You can move my keys around too, if you want."

She smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Another ear-splitting _BOOM _swept by them, coming from the rooftop outside, and Wilson realized they had all made a grave miscalculation. "We don't have weapons," he gasped. "What . . . What are we supposed to do?"

"That's not exactly true," Amber answered brightly. "I swiped-" She fished into her purse, and withdrew three of the oddest knives that Wilson had ever seen. "_These_ from Mrs. Cuddy's. They're athames," she continued, passing each of them their own. "According to _Wielding the Right Weapon_ they can kill anything."

"Including friends' parents? You must be kidding."

House frowned at Wilson's sarcasm. "You don't have to attack her. But if you think you're going out there unarmed you've got another think coming. No way in hell."

"Oh, fine," Wilson relented, though in his opinion it wasn't fair of House to use the Caring Boyfriend routine. It was hard for him to focus on his arguments when he really wanted to spend his time coming up with NC-17 rated ways to show his gratitude. "Let's do this."

The door to the roof let out a mighty _creeeeeeak _when they swung it open, though it hardly mattered, considering the outdoor commotion. They couldn't immediately identify the source, such was the confusion, but they had no problem spotting Arlene.

Her white hair seemed to stand out against the black sky, and though Wilson knew she was medium height, you couldn't tell by the imperious look in her eye, the way she stared them all down, as though she was the tallest there. Street clothes had been discarded for dark and regal robes. "So you've finally made it," she snarled, glaring at them from across the roof. "I've been waiting-"

"All of an hour," Amber interrupted.

"Seems longer." She turned her attention to Wilson. "You had to just fuck everything up, didn't you? Something wrong with the life I gave you?"

Wilson blinked at her. "There's no House," he answered honestly. "But, tell you what, next time you change the world I'll stick with whatever ex-wife you send my way."

"Oh, there won't be a next time."

"Very ominous," Amber called approvingly, taking a step forward. Wilson instinctively tensed. "You've made a very effective Evil Witch. Very scary."

Arlene gave her a gracious smile. "Thank you, dear. I will say, I'm surprised to see you fighting with these two to change everything back. Won't that kill you?" Wilson flinched at the harsh reminder until House rested a hand between his shoulder blades.

"We're giving you one chance to reset everything, no violence," House said, his lips tight with anger. "Though, for the record, I was out-voted."

"Brave words, considering you're about to die."

"You're wrong," Wilson snapped, though when another breeze blew through his hair he felt his stomach tie up in knots. He tried to remind himself that wind wasn't exactly the most terrifying part of all of this, but it didn't soothe his nerves.

Arlene shrugged, then moved closer. "Maybe," she answered. "I've just never seen a mortal kill a dragon before."

Dread filled Wilson, rooting him to his spot. _Dragon, _his mind whispered. _Did she say 'dragon?'_

Another wave of cold, another movement of air. Then House's hands were on his shoulders, yanking him backwards, probably looking for shelter, but what shelter they would find on the roof, Wilson had no idea. Nevertheless, he allowed his legs to comply as his eyes searched the sky. And what he saw nearly knocked him breathless.

There, high above them, with scales as black as coal, and beady red eyes that were totally focused on the three of them, was a dragon. A live, breathing, _flying _dragon.

"We're gonna die."

"Wilson, stop it." House grabbed his wrist and together the three ducked around a wall. "We're going to get out of this; we just need a plan."

Amber spun around and faced them, her eyes blazing with excitement. "I've got us covered. The two of you get Arlene - keep her busy. I think I can get the dragon."

"The _dragon," _Wilson shrieked. "You have to be kidding."

"Look, I'm dead anyway."

"Amber."

"Don't get sentimental about this, Wilson. You can't. You and House have to distract Arlene, keep her mind off her overgrown pet. Hopefully if she starts focusing on the two of you she'll lose her control over the dragon and it'll give me an opportunity to-" She swept her index finger horizontally along her neck

Wilson stared at her, taking in every inch of her face. He promised himself that he'd never forget the way she looked right then - so determined, sharp, ready to give it all. So full of life. "Okay," he finally replied, then he turned to House. "You ready to be rid of the mother-in-law from hell?"

House grinned. "You have no idea."

So with as much courage as they could summon, the two men left their hiding spot and faced the woman responsible for the insanity, all the while trying to ignore the still-circling dragon.

"Just to be clear," House called to her, "you think it's going to be less painful for _this _Cuddy - whom I've apparently been with for a very long time - to deal with me _dying _than it is for the real Cuddy to deal with us being _broken up_? A break up that she instigated, by the way. Seems like flawed thinking to me."

"Stop talking," she instructed, and as Wilson watched, her eyes moved from the beast that she had been so carefully watching to the men standing before her. "You don't know anything about my daughter."

"By choice." Wilson hoped that House was being intentionally frustrating (as this was often the case) to distract her and not just trying to piss off the woman so hell-bent on killing them. "My tastes have-" He glanced at Wilson. "Improved. Vastly."

There was a sudden _WOOSH _of cold air and he knew that that meant that the huge beast Amber was taking on by herself had landed by her. He forced his mind to go somewhere else, to not think about the goings-on behind him, and chose to keep his gaze locked on Arlene. "You won't win," he said with more confidence than he felt. "We've been through too much to lose now."

"How very sad for you."

A sharp, female scream interrupted them, and they all turned to see Amber, sprawled on her back, a long gash that ran from her elbow to her wrist now decorating her arm. She stared down at her new injury in stunned disbelief as the beast, sensing Amber's split focus, began closing in on her.

Wilson turned to House just in time to see the man swing his cane out and make contact with Arlene Cuddy's left calf. There was a _crack _and with a howl of pain, Arlene bent over to grasp her leg between her hands. Wilson could tell just by looking that his . . . boyfriend or whatever hadn't broken it or caused any lasting damage, but he had succeeded in his endeavor to keep Arlene's mind-controlled dragon away from Amber, who scrambled to her feet.

"You despicable, little _prick," _Arlene screamed at House, hobbling towards them as quickly as her leg would allow.

But it wasn't fast enough.

The tiny interruption House had afforded Amber was plenty. With the dragon's master now focusing completely on House and Wilson, the dragon, himself, turned to the pair as well, not noticing the tiny human advancing on it with lightening speed.

The rest was a blur. There was a flash of moonlight against the blade as Amber swung it up, the sound of soft flesh as it pierced the dragon's heart, and the bright smile that spread across Amber's face when she realized that in that second she had won.

Then there was nothing. Whiteness filled Wilson, surrounded him. There was bright light everywhere, even behind his lids when he closed his eyes. He wanted to scream, to reach for House's hand, but he made no sound, and didn't move.

_Am I dead, _Wilson wondered.

"Ow! Wilson, you're squashing my arm." Someone was speaking to him. "Wilson. Hello, Wilson? You're on my arm."

Slowly Wilson cracked his eyes open.

He was no longer bathed in white light, but was now laying face-down on . . . "House," he cried, rolling over to give him room, then before he could check himself, he threw his arms around his friend, the man that had been his soulmate since day one. "House, oh God. We're alive! And . . ." He looked around at their surroundings which were, at that moment, his loft. _His loft. _In his life. "We're home."

House chuckled lowly into his shoulder, and the sound warmed Wilson from his toes to his hair. "Seems that way."

"You remember everything?" He still didn't shift his arms from House's waist.

"Every gory detail."

Wilson finally pulled away and looked into his eyes. "I love you," he told him, stroking the side of House's face with his fingertips.

"You're such a girl." House rolled his eyes. "But I love you too."

**Epilogue  
**

****Wilson frowned deeply at the Sudoku book laying on the bed in front of him. This puzzle was supposed to be a _medium, _and yet he'd been working on the same line for over twenty minutes. He shifted from laying on his stomach to on his side, propping his head up with his hand. As he moved, his feet bumped up against House, who was sitting on the other end of the bed, straight up against the headboard, staring at the T.V.

"Excuse me a second. Who's this," the man on the screen was asking Piper Halliwell. It was much to Wilson's chagrin that House had taken to watching Charmed in the weeks since their return.

"Me," Chris Halliwell asked. "I'm from the future."

"We should try that next," House joked, continuing to watch the screen.

"Time travel," Wilson answered. "No way. Sounds too confusing." He narrowed his eyes at the puzzle again. Okay, well, if the two couldn't go there, or there, and it was already in that box there, then that would mean-

"Wilson."

"What?" He couldn't pull his eyes away. If he did he would lose his place.

"Wilson."

"What?"

"Your dead girlfriend is here."

Wilson jumped a mile at the startling words, then looked up. And there she stood. Or, appeared to stand, anyway. She was transparent now, so she was more floating than anything else. "Amber?"

She grinned. "I only get a minute, but I had to see how things have been. No more issues from Arlene?"

"Not a one," House said. "I think you must have really scared her, when you killed the dragon. You were very impressive."

"Thanks." She glanced at Wilson. "And how've you been? Okay?"

He gave a genuine smile back. "Better than I thought I'd be. I miss you, but you have been very dedicated with the key-hiding."

"Glad to be of service."

"Speaking of which," House chimed in. "I'm really glad that you think of me too. Really, I am. But could you start hiding something less annoying of mine? It took me a half an hour to find them last time."

"That really doesn't sound like my problem."

"So glad I discussed this with you," House muttered sarcastically, but Wilson had known him long enough to recognize the light in his eyes.

"Well," Amber said, "I'm afraid I've already got to go. Just had to see with my own eyes that you guys were okay. Thought maybe you'd joined me when I didn't see you at the loft last week."

"Got a new place," Wilson explained. "It felt fitting. New relationship, new surroundings."

"Ahh." She glanced at the television. "Doing research?"

"I hope not."

"You guys take care of each other," she instructed, stepping away from them. "I'll be watching you."

House and Wilson grinned at each other. "I suppose that can be arranged," House answered. "And stop hiding my keys. Hide my shoelaces or something."

"Not sure that would be less annoying," Wilson countered.

"She can figure something out."

And when they looked to her for her response, she was gone.


End file.
